I’m learning Spanish in a Central American paradise. Yet, my mind won’t stop careening off in different directions. Mostly North and South. Mostly.

This morning, on my way out of the pension, I noticed for the first time the wall-sized map of Guatemala mounted beside the entrance alcove. The definition of the Caribbean coast jumped out at me, and I found myself wondering how I hadn’t realized there was such a large inlet.

Later, while waiting for Sam at the DHL office, I caught myself totalling the number of kilometres I’d traversed since that fateful February. A scribble of zigzagging red lines covering the Mercator projection. A pale imitation of Indiana Jones.

It’s been a week here in San Pedro La Laguna. I’m not at home, but I’m a guest in one. The feeling is different. It’s not the temporary and out-of-place subtext of my last months in the States. And, it’s not the encompassing warmth of comfortable separation that I find in foreign cities.